Letters to Logan
by dpMeggers
Summary: The path of a Hero may be a difficult one but history makes it plain that the elder sibling suffers at least as much, if not more. The Hero has companions to help them find their way, but the elder sibling rarely receives such a boon. So the late Hero-Queen took it upon herself to be a companion to her son, long after she had passed.
1. Chapter 1

_Logan,  
I wish to speak with you before you leave. If you are able, meet me in the Hero's Tomb at dusk.  
Charlotte_

Logan had been puzzled by the summons. His bags had been packed, and his travel plans had been made, inasmuch as one can make plans to travel 'anywhere but here,' and he was due to leave on the morrow. Why the new queen would want to meet with him now, when he was certain that all that needed to be said between then had been said, he had no idea.

That the note had been written as a request was irrelevant, it _had_ been a summons. If the Monarch wished to speak with one, one went. Brought up in the palace from birth, he knew that as well as his sister did. Therefore, it was etiquette as much as curiosity which brought him to the steps of his parents' tomb as the last rays of sunlight bathed the monument in an orange glow.

She stood alone, as still as the statues in the garden, with her back to the doors – unthinkable. He opened his mouth to scold her about her disregard to the threats to her person, before wiser parts of his mind took over and snapped his mouth shut. Even had he, or anyone else, come here with violence in their heart, she was armed, and more than a match for most. She was no longer the child he had known, but a young woman, and his queen. And this meeting would likely be uncomfortable enough without him beginning it with a lecture. Such things are inevitable when one sibling leads a successful coup against the other, he supposed. He straightened his shoulders and approached her.

"You wished to speak with me, Your Majesty." He began a bow, stopping when she held up a hand.

"Charlotte, if you please, Logan. Power hasn't gone to my head so quickly that I need you to address me as queen when we're alone." She looked down with a sigh, and muttered, "Damn, that sounded pompous."

Suppressing a smirk, he cocked his head to one side, as though listening intently. "Fortunately, I don't hear any sounds that might indicate spinning."

She snorted, a horribly unladylike habit she had inherited from their mother. Humor, as it often does, had dissipated some of the tension. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to meet me here."

"The thought had crossed my mind." He agreed.

"Jasper and I have been exploring Mother's sanctuary. We, or rather, he, has made a number of interesting discoveries. Including this." She held up a small book, bound in dark green leather. "It's addressed to you. I thought you should have it before you left."

She handed it to him, she smiled hesitantly. "Travel safely."

Logan thanked her and left, wondering why his mother would have left anything for him in a place only Heroes might reach, when she knew that he would never see it. He was aware that he had a long journey ahead of him, and time enough to see if she had answered that very question within the journal itself.


	2. Chapter 2

His ship had barely left the harbor when Logan pulled the journal from his pocket. It was a distraction, something he could use to avoid the boredom of travel and the loneliness that had been threatening to crush him since his return from Aurora.

They had thought him changed, those he cared about and pushed away, his sister, Walter, Jasper and all the others. He _had_ changed, but the self-imposed isolation had not been a result of what he knew, it had been a way to protect them from the decisions that had been necessary for Albion's survival. The blame for the actions of his regime, the anger of his people, needed to lie on his shoulders alone. In that at least, he comforted himself as he opened the book, he had succeeded.

The handwriting covering the pages was beautiful in its familiarity, loopy, slanted, and full of idiosyncrasies, the backwards facing f, the inconsistent tails of y's and g's, hooked half the time and straight the other. He wished, for a moment, that he could have spoken to her again, instead of having to read her thoughts from this little green book. But then he would have had to face the judgment of the great Hero Queen for what he had done to her kingdom, and he doubted the verdict would be pride.

He sighed, and began to read.

* * *

_My darling Logan,_

Even as I write this, I am not certain that it will find its way into your hands. I have faith that your sister will grow to be the woman I see that she has the potential to be, and that this journal will eventually come to you as I intended it to, but I am not certain. If what I expect comes to pass then it is my most fervent hope that these pages, and the woman who wrote them, are a comfort and a companion to you, in a time when you will undoubtedly need comfort and companionship and will reject both. It is what I would have done, indeed it is what I have done, and we are not so different, you and I.

_The path of a Hero, my path, and as you no doubt have learned by now, the path of your sister, is a difficult one, fraught with both danger and sacrifice. History makes it plain, however, that our elder siblings suffer at least as much, if not more. Fate, if it is indeed fate that governs our lives, was merciless to the sister of the Hero of Oakvale, and to my own sister Rose. I fear, a fear born of knowledge, not uncertainty, that it will be no less cruel to you. _

_And so it is to you that I write, dear heart, and not to your sister. It is to you that I give the truth of my life, my idle thoughts and my most cherished beliefs. In reading this journal, know that I too faced difficult choices, and that to this day I am haunted by more than one. Perhaps by the time you read this I alone in Albion would be willing to forgive you, but if that is so, it is only because I understand far more than they ever could._

_I love you Logan  
Always and forever  
Your mother,_

_JR_


	3. Chapter 3

It had been four days since Logan had read the opening letter of the journal. He had read and re-read it, at times just staring at the old, familiar hand without taking in the meaning of the words it formed. It had taken that long to come to terms with what had been written.

The first day he felt resentment burn through his veins. His mother had known what would become of her children, of her kingdom after she had gone. She had known what lay waiting for him and she had let him walk into its arms, unaware, unprepared. She had _let_ this happen. He almost threw the book overboard in his disgust.

The second day he came at it with a cooler head, and read between the lines. She hadn't seemed to know for certain what would happen; the journal had been a response to a possibility. So what was it that she had seen to make her write it? From resentment he passed to grief, as fresh as it had been those first weeks after her death, when he had wanted to run to her for counsel, for answers, for company. It was this day that he had spent the most time staring at the words, not seeing the meaning, simply willing his mother back to life.

The third day the final paragraph struck him. Mother had seen that he would do something unforgivable. She forgave him for it anyway. He wept then, as a child does. He sobbed into his pillow until his misery gave way to emptiness, feeling an echo of his mother by his side. She had known but she had forgiven. She had known but she had not stopped loving.

On the fourth day, he was finally ready to turn the page, to learn whatever it was that his mother had wanted him to know. The next page, title carefully underlined, did not appear to be a letter, but rather a collection of thoughts on a single subject. He read on.

* * *

_On the Subject of Fate_

_Fate, or destiny, is frequently thought of as the inevitable path shared by the entirety of the world. If that were the case, all choices would lead to a single outcome. They do not. It is for this reason that Theresa needed the Spire after the death of Lord Lucien, to see all of the possible futures, all of the ways in which our world might be threatened, so that we might prepare for them._

_I say we. What I truly mean is so that she might prepare for them, as she has done since before my birth, and as she will likely continue to do until long after I am gone. But this is a digression; there will be time later to discuss Theresa and others like her, though few of them are left in the world._

_I had intended to write about fate and possibility, and to that subject I will return. Now, I would ask you to close your eyes and imagine the following, however, I suspect that to do so would make reading what comes next rather difficult, so instead I will ask you to do your best to use your imagination with your eyes open. You have always been an intelligent lad, I have no doubts that you will manage somehow._

_In lieu of the path discussed in the opening paragraph, imagine a great forest, each tree representing the possible fate of a single ordinary person, with a single leaf on that tree representing the person's final destination, and you begin to see the vastness of the possibilities which govern the lives of the people of the world. The importance of Heroes, and monarchs, and any who have a great degree of influence, is not that our path results in a single leaf, or a single tree, only influencing the tress around us. The importance of people like you and I, dearest, is that we are the water which flows underground between the roots, diverting to allow some trees to flourish and others to wither and die. Through our choices, and the paths we walk, we influence the outcome of the entire forest. _

_We have the power over life and death. Of all of the burdens I have had to bear, this has been the heaviest._

_I am sorrier than I can possibly say that you have had to share it._


End file.
